Healing Wounds
by Child of Loki
Summary: "Just went to show what a good cuddle could do for a person." The Comfort to ease all the Hurt in 'Terrors of the Night.' A more shippy alternate/second epilogue. Two-Shot. Nell/Callen
1. Nell

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**NCIS: LA **_**or its characters…**

**Author's Note: Because I can be **_**such**_** a girl… This is the alternate/second epilogue for **_**Terrors of the Night.**_** It did not fit with the dark/somber tone of that fic, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. Not sure I should be sharing this, as it might ruin the point/effect of the original story. But that's why it's separate. And as fan fiction readers, you're adept at separating out a lot of different universes centering around the same characters…so… here's the whole lot of **_**comfort**_** that follows the aforementioned fic's whole lot of **_**hurt **_**(at least in my head).****Will be a two-shot, one part Nell, one part Callen (shake well… enjoy extra hot! Or extra sweet?) **

**WARNING: CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER.**

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Nell blinked her eyes open, and let them fall back closed. It was the middle of the day but she had no intention of budging from her cozy nest. A storm had hit the island's coastal town, and the high winds were rattling the glass in the windows of the cute little Bed & Breakfast. And the mattress was so _perfect_, soft, but not too soft. And the quilts were the _perfect_ weight, pulled up over her shoulder and tucking her in just-so. And the bed was the _perfect_ temperature, made warm by the man-furnace she was snuggled up to. In fact... Opening her eyes again, she was treated to the sight of an expanse of naked, inviting skin. She nuzzled into the warm flesh between his shoulder blades, breathing in the scent of him, which made her sigh in contentment. The trapezius muscles twitched beneath the skin directly in front of her nose, causing her to go cross-eyed as she studied the little spasms of movement. They turned into larger, rippling waves as he stirred and rolled over, the small bed undulating under the shifting of his weight. Blue eyes locked onto hers and G Callen smiled sleepily.

He appeared a thousand times better than the man she had found sitting alone at the end of an empty pier on a cold night. The features of his face were not so drawn, the weariness shed from his expressions. Just went to show what a good cuddle could do for a person. They hadn't had sex, or even kissed, or engaged in any romantic action. Well, it could've been misconstrued as such, when she'd caught him staring at her reflection in the mirror out of the corner of his eye as she'd changed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he'd politely turned his back as she shed her travel-grimy clothing. But she'd caught his eye in the mirror and knowing he was busted, he'd felt the need to explain. It was curiosity, about how well she'd healed up, about her _scars_. And so she'd told him it was okay if he wanted to look, had guided his hand to run along the long, discolored and raised line of flesh across her lower belly. He hadn't said anything, just visibly swallowed, and looked at her with sad blue eyes. Lowering his gaze from hers, he'd moved his hand to delicately brush his fingertips over the swell of her breasts above her bra line.

"They look like the freckles on your nose," he'd whispered, finding the barely visible, thin discolorations marring her pale skin that no one else would know to be scars, the healed slices of a scalpel's sharp blade.

"I don't have freckles," Nell had said, feigning offense in a playful way to lighten the agent's dark mood. She'd been beyond relieved when it had worked, and he'd run a calloused finger from one cheek over the bridge of her nose to the other.

"You do," he'd said. "But they're only visible upon close inspection."

The fact that he'd obviously noticed her freckles before that moment, that he had paid such close attention to the features of her face had made her slightly uncomfortable. She hadn't liked being the center of attention, despite her pride at showing him that she'd been strong, even without him, that she'd healed somewhat. It had hurt her heart to think that even her small success at recovering her sense of self had dwarfed his.

"As you can see, my wounds have healed pretty well," she'd said, tenderly placing her hands on his shoulders and staring into his pained blue eyes. "How about yours?"

"Nell," Callen had said, placing his much larger, much rougher hands over hers. "I wasn't hurt… the last time."

"You may not have suffered physical injuries," Nell had said. "But you were as emotionally damaged as I was." He'd looked away and she'd let her hands drop along with his.

"How are you?" she'd asked, fighting the sob in her throat. The man's response had been to pull her into a second hug as tight as the first one had been on that cold dock, a hand buried in her hair, the other hot and coarse against the smooth skin of her lower back.

"I'm so tired, Nell," he'd said into the skin at the base of her throat, where he'd buried his face.

She'd stroked the back of his head and neck, finding the unfamiliar brown hair that he'd neglected to keep cropped short to his scalp to be quite soft despite its unkempt state.

"Then let's go to sleep."

He'd insisted on showering first, and had disappeared down the hall with one of the three changes of clothes that accounted for the majority of his possessions, which they'd picked up from the hovel where he'd been staying. His small cigar box that contained his personal history had been reverentially placed by Nell on the antique vanity by the window. She couldn't imagine having so little of her family left to her, and the small collection of items seemed all the more precious to her for its meager size. By the time he'd returned with damp hair that he had to repeatedly brush out of his eyes, she'd snuggled into the narrow bed, leaving a space for him rather than sprawling in the middle of the bigger-than-a-twin-but-smaller-than-a-full-sized mattress.

Giving her a questioning look, he'd paused, swiping at the unkempt hair he was obviously not accustomed to as it fell into his eyes yet again. She'd wondered when was the last time he'd gotten a haircut, and had a feeling he hadn't cared about personal upkeep much in the emotional state she'd found him in. He hadn't bothered to shave now, either, but she admittedly liked the man's perpetual five o'clock shadow. A clean-shaven Callen would seem a stranger to her. He'd stood there, staring at her like a puppy that wanted to get up on the couch but knew it wasn't allowed.

"You're going to be too warm," she'd said, indicating the jeans and t-shirt he'd put on. He'd raised an eyebrow at her, and she hadn't been sure if he was searching for permission to shed the clothes or questioning whether she'd wanted him in bed with her at all.

"These quilts are wonderful," she'd said, wiggling in the beautifully soft and cozy bed. "And I won't have you throwing them off onto the floor because you're too hot."

He'd shrugged, pulled off his shirt to reveal a chest and arms slightly more muscled than she'd remembered them being the last time she'd seen him. His skin, however, still sported very familiar scars. She now had a set of her own to complement them, including their matching set of healed bicep bullet wounds.

Shedding his jeans, he'd slipped into the bed in just a pair of boxer briefs, and suddenly she'd been enveloped in him, the scent of his freshly scrubbed skin, clean and warm, the heat of his body, his steady breathing, his beating heart. His arms had encircled her, strong with wiry muscle yet holding her gently, his calloused hands making small soothing circles on her naked back. She'd pressed her lips to the skin of his chest over his heart, finding the dark curls of hair there rough against the softness of her mouth. She'd nuzzled him, enjoying the tickle of the hair against her nose, and then had pressed her cheek to the spot she'd kissed, feeling the beating of his heart and sighing. The last layer of tension that had been twisting her soul for nearly a year had finally released. She knew it was just psychological nonsense, but G Callen was the only thing in the universe capable of giving her that sort of peace. Only with him, did she no longer feel that persistent, nagging fear. Fear of being hurt. No. More than that, fear of being killed in a horrendous way, of being utterly obliterated. Because she'd suffered physical pain at his hands (though it hadn't been his will), but she'd survived _because of him_. Only him. With him, nothing could harm her soul, even if her body was injured. And she'd been without him for so long.

She'd fallen blissfully asleep in his arms.

And now he was staring at her with the lively blue eyes she'd missed so very much. He pulled her to him, nuzzling her cheek, his hands on her hips beneath the quilts.

"Hello to you, too," she said. Their legs tangled together, naked skin against naked skin. So much bare flesh between them. Yet it did not strike her as even an iota inappropriate to be snuggled up in bed with the man, him only in boxer briefs and her only in bra and panties. Because it was Callen. And he was happy and warm. And the center of her world. Oh! And he was also... "Hello, indeed."

"Mmm... sorry," he said, not sounding very remorseful about the erection pressing against her belly. She gathered from his response it was a result of natural physical processes rather than specific interest. Yet, she felt an alien warmth blossom deep in her belly in response to his innate arousal, something she hadn't experienced in a long time and thought she never would again.

"I take it you slept well?" Nell asked, reaching up to place a hand on the back of his neck and stroke the soft hair at its nape.

"For the first time in months," he said, looking down into her face. She wondered if the last time for him had been the same night as it had been for her, when he'd been sitting protective detail on her, and she'd awoken with a scream, and he'd held her close through the rest of the night, and she'd slept soundly.

"No nightmares," she whispered.

"No nightmares," he whispered as he moved his hand to cup her cheek. His eyes were just so _damn_ beautiful that Nell felt she could stare into them for hours without ever feeling uncomfortable for the sustained eye contact. The man already knew her soul, so what was there to hide or feel exposed about?

And then his gaze dropped, but did not lessen in intensity, confusing Nell briefly before she realized he was staring at her mouth. She licked her lips self-consciously, and felt her heart beat faster when his breathing changed, deepened, quickened.

"You want to kiss me," she said quietly. It was neither a question or a statement of fact, but somewhere in between. His eyes met hers again.

"Yes," he said. "I think I do."

This was a different G Callen than the one she'd first met upon joining the Office of Special Projects, different than the man he'd been just a year ago. He'd always been so confident, so self-assured. But now, with her, he seemed hesitant, uncertain. And she could tell that it was due to a new sort of thoughtfulness, awareness and preoccupation with _her _feelings, rather than simply his own mind. Don't get her wrong, none would ever have called Callen selfish, especially not her. But the intensity with which he considered her thoughts and wishes was obviously novel to the habitually solitary man, who'd made an effort to keep anyone from getting too close. If she had been a different woman, and it had been a year ago, Nell Jones had no doubt that he'd be kissing her already. But so much had happened to them, between them. And he simply continued to study her face with a tentative wistfulness.

Uncertain of how she herself was feeling about his restrained intent, she did not push him. But there was that old, all-but-forgotten tug again deep down in her belly. And when his thumb swiped slowly over her lips, it blossomed into an insistent heat.

"Do you want to kiss me?" he asked, without making any forward move.

_Did she? _It was such a strange situation. She knew his body, the comfort of his arms, but not his amorous affection. She'd never felt his lips on hers... and now that the thought was in her head, she just knew she'd never think about anything else whenever she looked at him besides how it would be to kiss him.

"Yes," she said softly. "I think I do."

He smiled at her, leaned in so close that the tip of his nose brushed hers before he angled his lips onto hers. They were softer than she had expected from their wind-burnt appearance, as he ever so gently pressed them to her lips. Warm and tender, like the manner in which he touched her. And then he opened his mouth, sucking and nibbling at her upper lip. She was kissing him back, _hard_, by the time he turned his attention to her lower lip. And she didn't wait for his lead, darting her tongue into his mouth and deepening the kiss at the first opportunity. He tasted fresh, like the mint toothpaste he must have brushed his teeth with after showering.

His hands had moved, one to cradle her head, the other at the base of her spine, pulling her tight to him, as his tongue explored her mouth. She likewise had tangled her fingers in his chestnut brown hair that was graying ever so slightly at the temples. And their bodies had begun to shift in their building urgency to be closer, until they were no longer resting on their sides and facing one another, but lying with Nell on her back and Callen on top of her. He held his weight off from her, leaning down to claim the kisses from her lips. Their bodies were still touching _everywhere_, and she'd become quite aware of his growing interest as it pushed eagerly into her thigh.

They'd broken off kissing, breathless and flushed, when he hesitantly pressed his lips to her neck. Her fingers digging into his scalp and pulling him tighter to her apparently was approval and permission enough for him to continue to kiss the now highly sensitized skin of her throat. _Oh, god. _It was wonderful. Nell had never felt quite like this before. She'd never _wanted_ a man so _badly_ before. And up until an hour or so ago, she'd thought she would never want a man again at all... at least not one to be inside of her.

Running her hands over his shoulders, she let her nails bite into his flesh a little, nipped at his earlobe with her teeth and whispered, "Do you want to have sex?"

"God, yes." It was a groan, low and deep against her breastbone. _Oh, thank god. _She honestly didn't know how she would have come down from the building pressure if he'd said 'no.'

Instead of their embrace intensifying, however, Callen pulled away slightly, looking down at her face.

"But should we?" he asked, concern meshing with desire in his eyes. "I mean..."

"Do you want to be with me?" she asked, making sure she stared unwaveringly into those gorgeous blue eyes.

"More than anything," he said, without blinking.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Of course." God love him, no hesitation whatsoever.

"Then you'll believe me when I say I want you, _all _of you, simply for the sake of you."

He smiled and kissed her, easing his body down onto hers so that the weight of him pressed her into the mattress. It was a delicious sensation, one that made her feel enveloped, protected and safe, rather than trapped as one might think such a damaged woman would feel. Apparently, this was a concern of Callen's as well, however, for he rolled them so that she was lying atop of his body. Which was fine by Nell, who immediately shifted to straddle him, enjoying the thrill of anticipation that ran through her as she settled with his firmness between her thighs. _Not just yet. _Soon, she would take him, feel him filling her. But first, she kissed her way across and down his chest, running her tongue over his scars and tugging at his nipples with her teeth, making him groan. The sound was like magic, making the tension lying low and deep in her belly turn to an insistent pulling sensation. When she claimed another kiss from his lips, his hands slipped around to unclasp her bra so that when she rose up on her knees again, the garment slipped down her arms. He tossed it aside and reached for her breasts.

Those work-roughened hands no longer made her sad, sorry that the man's life had become such a hard one, for the calloused flesh felt insanely stimulating as he palmed her breasts, then cupped them, running his thumbs harshly over her nipples and sending a shudder straight down to the core of her. Yes, her panties were certainly wet now. But she soon solved that problem, hopping off from the man to hastily shimmy out of the bright blue cotton boy-shorts that matched her discarded bra. Callen was looking at her, the bright blue of his eyes dwarfed by the black of his dilated pupils. A hungry sort of grin was on his face as his gaze roamed down from her eyes, over her naked body and back up again.

Well, two could play at that game. She leaned over the bed, reached down, hooking her fingers in the waistband of his black boxer-briefs, and pulled. He lifted his hips to aid her and she'd soon flung them aside to disappear under a chair in the corner. She drank in the naked glory of him, his body leanly muscled, and beautifully shaped, the scars on his skin only adding interest and character to the man's flesh. It was a body she'd seen before, one seared into her memory, and yet one she'd never studied with keen interest, with a desire and proprietary awareness. For she knew every part of him, the shape of his hands, the breadth of his back, the size and feel of his cock both when erect and flaccid. But he hadn't been hers then. He'd only been an instrument to cause her pain. She searched herself for a moment, to see if she felt any of the fear that came to her in the nightmares, because she didn't want any of that between them. But it wasn't there. And how could it be? In her worst nightmares, she wasn't haunted by the memory of G Callen being used to hurt her, she was terrified by the thought of losing him, the center of her world.

Just when things started to get really intense, Callen pulled away from her, asking, "Do you have a condom?"

"Do we need one?" she asked, breathless, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. If they did, they did. She wouldn't hold it against him. But she sort of hoped not, since... well, she certainly didn't carry prophylactics with her. Sexual intercourse had not exactly been a likelihood or something she'd desired in a long time, or ever thought she would again.

"Thank god." He sighed. "He didn't give you anything."

There could only be one 'he' that Callen referred to, and she was so thankful that bastard hadn't infected her with any nasty diseases. Then again...

"They pumped me so full of antibiotics and antivirals, a cold germ would've been hard-pressed to give me a runny nose," she said. And then a terrible thought occurred to her. "I didn't pass anything on to you, did I?"

"No," he said, smiling at her, stroking her cheek with an expression of pure tenderness on his face. "I made sure to get regular check-ups." He frowned, and she knew it wasn't because he cared about his own health. "I just had to know if you..."

She silenced him with a kiss, then whispered, "I'm healthy.

"And I'm on birth control."

They'd put her on the hormones in an attempt to help regulate her mood swings. She'd preferred the option to mood altering anti-psychotics, and it seemed to have evened out those times of the month when she'd been extra susceptible to bouts of depression. It'd also set her stressed body's cycle back to normality. And…"So if you don't know of a reason we need..."

"There hasn't been anyone, Nell," he said. "How could there have been?"

The thought was a little bit sobering, but it also made her glow with pleasure. For like her, he'd never thought he'd ever want to be physically intimate with another person again, and yet, he wanted her. She leaned down to press her lips to his, kissing him slowly and tenderly and then building to a fervency that had her blood boiling by the time she reached down between their warming bodies and grasped him, positioning her hips just so, and then... _oh, fuck_... taking him into her, sliding slowly down the length of him, feeling her insides stretch, until she'd settled on his hips with him buried fully and deliciously snugly within her. He cupped her face, looking at her with the most incredible intensity in his blue eyes, and she leaned into his touch, sighing, feeling him filling her, touching her, holding her with his hands and his eyes, and the entirety of his being.

_G Callen. _Yes. Him and only him. She'd been absolutely right. She would never want another man inside of her. Never another but this one. The one that completed her world. _G Callen._

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**A/N: Callen's POV for this tryst will follow shortly. And then I'll finally let go of this abusive and traumatizing fic-verse.**


	2. Callen

**Author's Note: Since this was done/written at the same time as the first part, I figured I wouldn't tease you too much with the wait… Since the resolution of _Terrors of the Night_ was from Nell's POV, we didn't get a lot of what Callen was feeling when they were reunited, and so this turned out to be chock full of touchy-feely.  
**

**WARNING: SAME AS THE FIRST PART… CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER.**

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_Oh, god. _He had found it. He had finally found what he'd thought lost to him forever. For nearly a year, he'd been walking around with nothing inside. At first he'd had the guilt and rage, but then he'd gotten his vengeance and even the hatred had ebbed away from him, leaving him hollow. So hollow. And for the last few months, he'd felt absolutely nothing, not even the sting of hurt and envy when he witnessed fellow human beings in possession of everything he lacked… joy, laughter, jealousy, passion, love... He would've given anything for even the heartache of unrequited love, or the brief carefree amusement of a shared joke, or the flare of temper over some petty slight. But he'd been incapable of feeling any of those things, had not been quite human anymore. He'd wandered around, numb, surviving because it was a basic instinct to him, until he'd even thought he'd be better off not living anymore.

That morning had been one such cold and desperate moment, when he sat out in anticipation of the rising sun, hoping that just once the sight he knew to be aesthetically pleasing would take his breath away in its undeniable beauty, when his past life caught up to him. He'd known it was her. There was no one else it could have been. But why she'd tracked him down, he hadn't any idea. That was... until she'd spoken, until she'd taken his hands in hers and he'd felt the flare of an ember inside of him, in the place he thought cold and dead. In her eyes and words had been forgiveness. No, not forgiveness. Forgiveness is what he'd thought he'd wanted from her at one time, what he'd thought would heal him, what he'd never ask from her for fear she could not give it and that it would hurt her to try. No, she'd given him something more, something better. She'd given him _gratitude_ and it had struck him to the heart he'd thought could no longer feel.

He'd given up his home, his life, his humanity for Nell Jones. And it had been more than a fair trade-off in his mind. And not just because it had been all his fault that she had been hurt. But because she was an amazing person, a human being capable of such compassion, such strength. He'd admired the person she was long before he'd contaminated her life with his own darkness. He'd admired her even more on that cold and lonesome pier, when she took his hands in hers and looked deep into his eyes with her beautiful hazel gaze, unwavering, honest, and affectionate. No one, _no one _could destroy her tender heart. It had taken so little to turn Callen himself to stone, a man-shaped shell without an ounce of human emotion contained within. But Nell... dear god, she was amazing.

He'd drawn her close and she'd wrapped her arms around him and he'd _felt_ again.

And she was bringing him home.

Every succeeding emotion had struck him with poignant depth for the simple fact of the massive dearth he'd been suffering for so long. And he'd known he should maintain a respectful distance from the young woman, that just because she'd traveled so far to find him was no reason to feel so attached to her. It was no invitation for his unwavering attention. But he hadn't been able to stymie his curiosity. She'd caught him looking and surprised him by welcoming his interest in her physical and emotional state, welcomed him into her confidence, her life. She hadn't shied at his touch, she'd sought it. Cuddling up to her had been a relief he'd never thought possible. It was pure joy to hold her close, fall asleep in the warmth of her. And when he'd awoken, he'd felt happy in a way he'd never really experienced before. No worries. No concerns. No nightmares... they'd been the only source of emotion he'd experienced over the past few months, waking up filled with fear and anxiety from dreams where he'd been the one cutting Nell Jones open, causing her agony with the faintest touch of his hands.

It'd been such a tremendous relief to realize he _could_ touch her without hurting her that he'd continued to snuggle up to the woman even with the awkwardness of his body having had woken up _in every way_. Although, that, too, had been a relief for he'd never thought to be with a woman again, to be roused by one in a healthy manner. He hadn't meant anything by it, and Nell had only seemed a little amused by the state of him upon waking with her warm, soft body so close to him, the musk of woman filling his nose. But the most erotic part of the encounter had been when he'd looked into her hazel eyes, so bright and beautiful, intelligent and affectionate, and playful. Her pupils had dilated until there was more black than the golden brown flecked with green. And he'd felt a real pull towards her, more than just the primal tingle of his previously quite dormant loins. He'd wanted to kiss her, and amazingly enough, she'd wanted to kiss him, too.

And that kiss. And all that had followed... He'd wanted her so _badly_. He'd wanted to make love to her, knowing that he finally truly realized what the term meant. It wasn't just a euphemism for 'sex' and he wasn't sure he'd actually _made love _to a woman before. Plenty had whispered the request seductively in his ear, usually followed by the name of some alias of his. 'Make love to me...' But they'd only wanted to be fucked. Tracy... surely he'd made love to her, but even that relationship seemed silly and trite when compared to his connection with Nell Jones, the force with which he was drawn to the young woman, bound to her, wanted to be with her, to be enveloped by her warmth, feel the vitality and strength of her.

He'd been completely done in when she'd asked him if he wanted to have sex, showed him the same interest that had confiscated every thought and feeling in him. He'd become lost in her,_ entirely_. The feel of her body, soft yet strong. Her skin, so smooth except for where the texture of scar tissue marred its surface. The scent of her, a subtle, intoxicating blend of herbal shampoo and lotion, fresh, clean soap, sweat, and the heady musk of feminine arousal. The sounds she made as he touched and kissed her… pleased murmurs, breathy sighs, throaty moans. And her lips. And her hands. And her hips. Her breasts. Her red hair. And her _eyes_. God, her _eyes_.

They'd started out with her straddling him, but he just couldn't stand the tease it was, to be buried deep inside of her but denied any more contact than that joining, than her hands on his chest, her lips when she leaned down to grace him with a kiss, what little of her that his hands could touch. He hadn't been able to touch enough of her. And so he'd taken firm hold of her and shifted their position so that he was kneeling and she straddling his lap, her stomach pressed flush to his, her breasts crushed into his chest, his arms around her, and his mouth having free access to her lips, face, throat, neck, shoulders... She'd felt so good in his arms, so _perfect_.

And when she'd begun to move... _Oh, god_. It'd been an exquisitely slow rhythm, the rise and plunge of her hips, as steady and powerful as waves crashing on the shore. And for once, there'd been no baser instinct urging him to take his lover fast and hard, for she was giving him precisely what he needed. Nell Jones was precisely what he needed. For although he'd been the one inside of her body, she'd undeniably been the one _filling_ him, filling that previously so very vacant place inside of him, the warmth and vibrancy of her building in him along with the devastating pleasure.

He did not let go, even when she climaxed with a rapturous outcry, her back arching, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her muscles tensing around him and pulling him along with her. He only held her tighter to him as he came, buried so -god, _so deeply _inside of her. And afterward, when the orgasmic tension had left her and she softened in his arms, resting her cheek on his shoulder, he still held her so tightly to him that her heart beat thudded in his chest as prominently as his own. For he knew what she possessed. He had found it. _Oh, god. _He had found it. And he did not hesitate for even a moment, as he whispered into her ear the secret of his life.

"You're my soul, Nell."

Every moral act, every vibrant passion, every tender emotion he'd ever possessed was contained within her. And he did not begrudge her it. And he did not want to recover it from her. For he could not deny it was safer in her gentle and attentive hands than it ever would be in his. But now he knew he could not leave her, or be doomed to wander the earth as the undead, a soulless shell of a being. Neither would he ask of her anything she did not want to give. He would be contented to be near her always, there if she needed him, basking in the warmth of her. Like she were the sun and he were a cold, distant planetoid caught in her orbit and grateful for the few nurturing rays that reached him. It probably would seem pathetic to any _normal_ person. That he'd be trailing after a beautiful young woman who didn't want him. But it wasn't like that, it was in no way _normal_, or could be understood by _normal_ people. Nell Jones was his soul, a part of him. And she' had tracked him down. _Why _had she looked for him, come after him? Not that he was complaining... but why?

He very shortly received his answer as she said quietly, "G Callen, you are the center of my world."

The flood of emotion threatened to drown him, a man who had only ever sat by the edge of the sea and stared wistfully out at its depths and did not know how to swim in such a deluge. 'Love' was not adequate enough a term to describe how he felt about Nell Jones. She was his soul, a part of him, the _best_ part of him. And miraculously, he was just as important to her. They'd been damaged, had parts of themselves ripped from them. But together, they were _whole _once more.

He held her close, kissed her slowly, and promised himself that he'd never let go of her again.

END

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**A/N: And now maybe onto happier tales… for now… ( I do get some sort of perverse joy out of torturing characters I love… the more I love them, apparently the more they suffer in my fics. But I do reward them… at least a little, for surviving my abuse.)**


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